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May 1st, 2032. USSA Interrogation Chamber #32, Nowhere facility.
The prisoner sat in his chair, bound lightly. There was nowhere to run - just a bright light shining in his face, wherever he turned. The USSA had trained some excellent 'information extraction personnel' - and they were being put to use here.
Lieutenant William Shade looked at the computer screen in front of him, which had logged all of the prisoner's responses. Facility was a listening post... manned by USSA defectors... The prisoner said. Aliens promised us freedom - real freedom - in exchange for our work. Useless stuff. Things that Shade already knew from the report. He smirked. Philips had come in from the dropship, dripping blood... and straight into his office. Parker, soon after, was led to the brig by a pair of troopers. Shade was familiar with all the propaganda that resistance groups spread about the USSA - he also knew most of it was true. He didn't care much though - morality was one of the things he took great care to avoid. Morality could get a man killed these days. He clicked a few buttons and looked at the man's file.
Born: January 24th, 2001, Anchorage. Joined Boy Scout organization at age of 6.
Useless.
Assigned to Central Research, September 3rd, 2019.
Hmm... that's the lab that was destroyed back in the 20's... strange - news brief said there
was a 100% casualty rate...
Record Sealed: October 12th, 2022. Presidential clearance required.
Sheesh... that guy must have pulled one hell of a big skeleton out of the closet.
Shade pulled the microphone up, and turned it on. "What's your connection with Central Research, prisoner?"
The prisoner shook for a second. "I worked there. Until... they came... killed everyone."
"Who the hell are they? The aliens? The Europeans?"
"ISB agents... overloaded the reactor - I escaped through a vent."
Shade chuckled. "Damn traitors'll say anything when they're under the gun." He reached toward a button labeled 'light shock'.
His hand was stopped by another - that of Master Sargeant John Poole.
"I don't remember seeing you here, Sargeant." Shade stated.
"Well, I am here, kid. And I want to listen to what this guy has to say." Poole stated.
"Very well... maybe you can drag something useful out of this traitor."
Poole took the microphone. "Prisoner, who was your supervisor at the lab?"
"Michael Thornside. Damn good scientist... ISB fuck shot him in the head..."
Poole scowled and hit the shock button. The prisoner screamed in pain.
"You lying bastard! Sam wouldn't..." Poole shook his head.
"I'm ... telling the truth... I've got nothing to lose - why would I lie?" the prisoner begged.
"Once a traitor... always a traitor." Shade rose from his seat, and hit an intercom button. "I want a two-man execution detail in the interrogation chamber on the double." Letting go of the button he added - "Bastard will thank me that I didn't make it any longer. Sargeant, you're dismissed as well."
Poole, mumbling something, was already on the way out.
"And Sarge... I don't want to hear about any trouble, you hear?"
"Yeah, I heard you, kid." Poole grumbled as he walked out.
Shade shook his head. The traitor's words really jarred the Sargeant. To Shade, what the prisoner was saying was no surprise. He was a firm believer in the phrase "The end justifies the means." The ISB may very well have been ordered to suppress dissidents and rebels if they were in that research facility... but to think if Michael Thornside, who once fought at Wychin's side, as a traitor... Shade shook his head again. In the neighboring room, the sound of a pair of rifles cocking and firing a burst preceeded a splattering sound. Shade didn't even look back as he walked out.
The firing squad slowly gathered at the firing range. All the lower ranks of the Cold Force were present - including the soon-to-be-executed Arthur Parker. Captain Philips looked at the troops. There was Shade, leaning against a wall, rifle strapped over his shoulder. Jorgenson, sitting down on a wooden bench, puffing on a cigar and muttering something. Wander, looking at the far end of the range, where Parker was. Finally, Geller and Kemp, standing straight, waiting. A squad of USSA grunts was also present - the official firing squad. Once this bastard is gone, that'll show 'em who'se in charge. Philips mused to himself and grinned. It was almost time.
Written on July 6th by Andrew Pokrovski AKA Captain Alexander Philips